


The Magical Adventures of Lorcan Potter

by writworm42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts, Next Generation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:16:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/pseuds/writworm42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, a new generation is set to walk the school's halls. Amid the newest students, Lorcan Potter and Celestia Malfoy prepare to take up wands, becoming fast friends despite family rivalries. What adventures await them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

# 

# 

"Luna?" Harry entered the room hesitantly, carefully swiping aside the green curtain that separated his wife from the rest of St Mungo's. He had to look hard to find Luna amid the hustle and bustle of the ward; doctors and nurses rushed from bed to bed, pans and basins floating through the sweat-stale air. A sharp cry rose above the din of medicine, the encouraging shouts-- _Push, honey! Push!--_ and the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief; another baby had finally been born.

But where was Harry's? He follows the cry to the edge of the room, near a set of windows covered by blinds to shut out the impending evening.

"Harry!" he snapped to attention at the exclamation, turning round to see Luna upright in ber bed,  kelley-green blankets bunched around the lower half of her body. He frowned, biting back concern; shadows lurked underneath Luna's eyes, her hair tangled and astray. He felt the old inclination towards heroism rise up in his chest, making him taste bile as he stood helplessly, unable to do anything but stare. Luna, however, seemed not to notice her own exhaustion, or Harry's disturbed state, and smiled. "Would you like to see your son?"

"My... son?" Harry smiled, his feelings of anxiousness evaporating, "So everything was alright, then?"

"Oh, I was afraid he might come out half-nargle, pregnancies are susceptible in that way, but don't worry. He's perfectly wonderful."

"Well, let's see him, then." Harry suddenly found himself fighting the urge to laugh as Luna turned to the basin next to her, scooping a small, blanket-wrapped bundle into her arms and pulling it close. Coming closer, he could feel the heat of Luna's body as she beamed down at their son. "Severus. Albus. James," Harry gently reached for his son, stroking one of the few bits of soft, red-blotched flesh left exposed, "There are so many men we could name him after..."

"But they've already lived." Luna's smile faded as she looked up at Harry, "Wouldn't it be better for him to make his own history?"

Harry looked back at her and frowned. "What did you have in mind?"

"Lorcan?" the two paused, both considering the name for a moment. Harry imagined his son exploring, imagined him learning his own power. He imagined his son at Hogwarts, casting spells in the name of red and gold, greatest friends by his side...

"Alright," Harry nodded, leaning down to kiss Luna and giving the baby's arm a gentle squeeze, "Welcome to the family, Lorcan Pot--"

Another scream errupted, cutting the moment short. The noise of the ward suspended, every woman, partner, and child listening for the source. The scream rose once again, this time causing the source to become clear--a grown woman was being ushered into the ward, her platinum-haired husband running along the side of her wheelchair.

Harry frowned. Those people, he thought, almost looked like...

"Excuse me," a nurse materialized in front of Harry, startling him, "But our beds are all full, and we've got a woman desperately in need. Ms. Lovegood, would you mind if we moved you to another ward while you recover?"

Luna nodded, clutching Lorcan a bit closer with one arm as she latched onto Harry with the other, mustering up leftover strength in preparation to vacate her bed. Gritting his teeth, Harry stiffened to support his wife's weight, when a rude cough broke his concentration.

"Sorry to interrupt your little love-fest, Potter," a familiar sneer sounded behind Harry, "But my wife needs this bed. Would your loony cow of a woman care to move a little faster?"

Harry inhaled sharply, anger blurring his vision as he tightened his grip on Luna's arm. Yet Luna, for her part, remained calm. Smiling comfortingly at Harry, she turned to face the couple and, gray eyes clouding unreadably, spoke amicably.

"Hello, Draco. Hello, Pansy."

 


	2. Happy birthday to whom?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celestia and Lorcan celebrate their 11th birthdays by preparing for their first year at Hogwarts, with the (unwarranted) help of their parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm really sorry to all following this story that it took so long to upload the chapter! I've been very busy, so unfortunately I can't make any promises in terms of updating consistency. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

If there was one rule to be observed in the Potter household, it was that _no one_ was allowed in Daddy's study. From a young age, Lorcan and his brother, Lysander, had been told that what lay behind the charm-locked mahogany doors of their father's office could hurt them if anything were to get in--or out. And Lorcan understood; he'd never been a particularly rash child, but he was curious, and the question of _what_ , exactly, his father did burned at the front of his mind for years. In retrospect, it wasn't entirely Lorcan's fault—his mother believed that nothing in the world should go unanswered, even if no questions had yet been asked, and the Potter boys had become accustomed to open doors and rainy-day scavenger hunts through lavender-walled rooms decorated with the teeth of skrewts, tracing red ink over _Nargle-Tracker_ pin-ups. 

So you could imagine Lorcan’s surprise when, on his eleventh birthday, he woke up to find his father standing in the doorway of his bedroom, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as he waited for Lorcan to rouse himself.

“Daddy?” Lorcan pushed himself up onto his elbows, slowly peeling back the covers from his lap as he shivered into consciousness. “What is it?”

“Good morning, Lorcan,” Harry smiled, “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Lorcan smiled back, the tight, toothless smile of favours returned and courtesy leant, gone as quickly as he’d forced it to appear. Silence fell over the pair, lingering in the room and settling in the cracks between snow-globes and dragon figurines, for a moment before Harry coughed awkwardly, then turned away from his son to fish something out of his pocket. Lorcan’s eyes widened.

“Daddy, is that my—“

“Hogwarts letter,” Harry’s voice was breathless, green eyes fixed on the creamy parchment in his hands as if it were the philosopher’s stone, “Yeah.”

A pause, a moment, a million heartbeats fast and irregular.

“Daddy…”

“Lorcan, I—“ Harry coughed again, the hiccup in his chest rising up and rippling through the rest of his body, tearing his eyes away from the envelope, “I want you to come downstairs with me. There’s… Something I want to show you.”

 

Ever since Pansy was a little girl, she’d wanted a birthday party. Her parents, practical wizards, had had no time for fun and games, no time for loot-bags tied with red ribbon frayed by clumsy fingers. No time for a daughter who acted like such a _muggle_.

Why do that with your hands, when you can use a charm? Why walk, when I can fly it right here for you?

Why bother doing anything at all? Pansy spent the first ten years of her life shuttered away with books and quills, observing the rules of a never-ending witch’s Sabbath. _Children should be seen and not heard **.**_ But Pansy wasn’t an _ordinary_ child—she was more magical, more special, _better_ than the peals of laughter, the shrieks of frantic tag and gender-rivalries so far away outside her bedroom window. In Pansy’s house, everyone was magic, and when everything was special, nothing was worth celebrating.

So when she’d had a child of her own, Pansy wanted to make _sure_ that every moment of her daughter’s life was filled with wonder. She wanted that child to know for certain the mystery of the world, to appreciate the gifts she’d be given. What better way to do this than through birthday parties? Celestia had never had many friends—she was stubborn in that regard, which worried Pansy—but as long as there were presents and tricks and as many sweets as could be crammed between baby-fat cheeks, it didn’t matter that only a few begrudging friends-of-family were in attendance. All Pansy had ever wanted was a birthday party, and now Celestia had them every year. Not that the child had ever asked for them—she was far too accommodating, far too quiet; far too easy to let live and let down. No, Pansy expected them from herself, and so ten years went by in flurries of petting-zoos and stockpiles of gift-cards for that inevitable One Day, the time when Celestia would scrounge Diagon Alley for first-year supplies.

The thought made Pansy’s heart hurt. It wasn’t that she’d hated Hogwarts; she’d quite loved the place, and the more-than-friends she’d made along the cobbled halls, but the thought of losing her daughter for seven years was perhaps the most debilitating she’d ever produced. Pansy had always known what she’d wanted. And yet…

Go and grow. Stay and be cared for.

Pansy knew the decision was far too complex for either of them to make, and so the government made it for them.

“Celestia?” Pansy, never in the habit of knocking, opened the door to her daughter’s room, “Celestia, sweetie, get dressed. Not your party dress—just your robes. We’re going shopping today.”

 

Lorcan followed his father through the house, over staircases and under toddler-gates, to the basement. His mother, probably upstairs placating Lysander, telling him it would be his turn, _three years is nothing_ , _poppet_ , had left construction-paper cut-outs to trace out Lorcan’s path of travel, and he knew at once where the purple-spotted arrows were pointing him—Daddy’s study.

Harry, without looking, without breathing, placed his hand on the door.

Lorcan inhaled, deep and slow.

The door stiffened, as if resisting Harry’s leaning weight, fighting with every inch of its cedar body to stay in place. The whining was deafening, but quick—the door had lost the battle, and swung out of view, leaving the study open and penetrable. Inviting Lorcan in.

“How about we go inside?” Harry cast a tentative glance at his son, stepping aside to let the boy enter the room first. But Lorcan didn’t move; he _couldn’t_.

He’d forgotten how to breathe out.

 

“Shopping?” Celestia, from underneath the mounds of goose-down that shrouded her form even in the most sweltering of August nights (it was _so_ easy to catch cold, these days), issued her muffled reply.

“Yes, for school. Happy birthday, poppet.”

“School.” Celestia echoed, Pansy thought rather dreamily. It was a sentiment she could echo; her years at school had been full of conflict and derision, sneers from red and yellow, distrust from blue, but they’d also been generous with adventure and happiness. It was at Hogwarts that she had finally been able to play, to _explore_ , and to learn. It was at Hogwarts that she had secretly studied the life of muggles, adding the excitement of secrets to those of new discovery. It was at Hogwarts that she’d met the love of her life.

It was at Hogwarts that Celestia would have the same adventures.

“Aren’t you excited?” Pansy sing-songed,  leaning up against her daughter’s door-frame like the lead in a muggle movie. _Waiting for my mister_ , coy glances and playful smiles until he came by to sweep her off tired feet. Draco had done that for her, once. But it was different, when you could fly all on your own.

“I guess,” Celestia, fully awake now, wrestled with her bed-sheets, throwing them off the surface of the mattress with a triumphant buck of her torso, “But I do wish that I could just enjoy myself today.” Lowering her voice, as if afraid to be found out, she added,  “I don’t want to have to think about leaving, Mum.  Not today.”

Pansy sucked in her breath quickly, a sudden twinge of sadness shivering through her spine, every nerve pinpricked with sentimentality.

“I know, poppet,” she bit back tears, “I know.”

Celestia could have run forward and hugged her mother; Pansy, struggling now to fight back tears, realizing what she’d done, wouldn’t have minded.

She didn’t.

 

“Come and sit,” Harry led Lorcan into the study hesitantly, as if second-guessing every step his son took. Lorcan tip-toed closer, still holding his breath, until he had passed through the doorway, from childhood restriction into the secrecy of adulthood. Harry reclined on a large leather chair, Lorcan climbing onto his lap, a child at story-time.

“You know, when I was your age, I had no idea what I wanted. I didn’t really see any future.”

This was hardly heard by Lorcan, who was busy taking in his surroundings. Admittedly, looking back, the study really was anti-climactic; plain brown walls were barely visible behind large, carefully locked file cabinets, leaving room only for a large map buzzing with red-dotted activity apparating from one jurisdiction to the next. Amid this, fleshed out in a corner, was the chair that the two sat on—or, rather, in, since they sank far into the wide brown cushions—in front of a desk weighed down by parchment scrolls stacked neatly two-by-two-by-two, nearly touching the ceiling. But the sheer idea of being inside his father’s study was enough to shock Lorcan, making the blood pound in his ears as he looked up at his father.

“Daddy… What is all this for?”

“Well, you see, that’s what I do all day. Well, most days.” Harry looked wistfully around the room, a faint smile creeping across his face as he continued, “Some days I have to go out into the field, but I thought… Your mother and I thought… It would be safest if I just did the processing and paperwork, to keep you and your brother from being put in danger.”

“But _why_? What do you do?” Lorcan frowned, suddenly frustrated at his father’s vague answers; he’d thought that being shown his father’s study would lead to _clarity_.

“I’m an auror.” The smile had faded now, a serious tone immediately overtaking Harry, “And that’s why I wouldn’t let you two into my study. The people I track, they’re evil. They will kill anyone who gets in their way, or even that they just see, because they want to, because they can. And I try to make sure that they get caught.

“You might be wondering what this has to do with you. Well, I don’t expect you to follow in my footsteps, but… I wanted to show you this, the reason why education was so important. When I was your age, I didn’t see myself having a future. Hogwarts, it showed me everything I needed to do with my life. And it was hard, and it let me scarred in so many ways, and at times I wanted nothing to do with the place, but… It became home. And it showed me the way to my future. I know it can do the same for you.”

Lorcan nodded. “I don’t know what I want yet, Daddy.”

Harry laughed tersely, as if the harsh sound were being drawn out of him rather than released freely. “I know. But a little motivation won’t hurt. Now, we best get upstairs, I think your mother’s making cocoa-berry pancakes, wouldn’t want them to get cold…”

“Cocoa-berry! All right!” Lorcan heard himself exclaim with a buoyant voice, felt himself slide off his father’s lap and run back upstairs, into the arms of his mother, the view of his obviously jealous brother. And yet, all he could think of was Hogwarts. Images of the school swam in his head, to the soundtrack of his father’s speech.

Daddy had said he’d need motivation.

Motivation for _what_?

 

_How did the shopping go?_

Fine; Celestia had refused to pick any familiar but the smallest, lumpiest toad in the shop, but it had all gone fine.

_Did you get everything you needed?_

Yes; the books were sold out because Celestia had taken so long to eat lunch, but she could have them sent to the school in no time.

_Is everything all right, Pansy, dear?_

Everything was fine.

Celestia had named her toad Sherbon.

Celestia and Sherbon were playing upstairs while Pansy and Draco had cake. Or, rather, Draco had cake; Pansy was too exhausted to eat. 


	3. Good-bye?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celestia and Lorcan say good-bye to their families, but not in the ways they want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little chapterlet that's more for development than anything; by now, you'll hopefully have a clearer sense of what their families mean to them, but also what houses they might be sorted into.
> 
> Here's hoping the next chapter will follow very soon! :)

Celestia had never been good at good-byes, so she avoided them; the events of September first were no exception. While her mother fussed, her father looking torn between behaving similarly and maintaining his usual, awkward emotional detachment, Celestia zoned out of the scene, evading the hustle-and-bustle of platform 9 ¾ to escape within herself.

When she was younger, she had had imaginary friends; they had never left her, only moved from the outside to within. Smiling to herself, she conversed with them mentally, letting pleasant chatter wash over the unintelligible blubbering of a mother about to be abandoned.

It wasn’t that she hated her mother; only that she didn’t want to say good-bye. Unfortunately, the words were unavoidable—so she made them as terse and brief as possible, so as to make them feel impermanent. She knew she was hurting Pansy’s feelings; in her mind, though, plots were always resolved. She would be back to make it up to her.

Celestia boarded the train.

 

Like usual, Lorcan’s family burst through the Platform’s barrier with a great deal of kerfuffle and fifteen minutes late. Lorcan had played the scenario in his head many times before the event, imagined what it would look like; he would glide onto the Platform, take a look at the hustle-and-bustle, fitting in and feeling like he was at last exactly where he belonged. He would give tearful good-byes to his family, take Lysander on a nargle-hunt to keep themselves entertained while his mother comforted his father, who was taking it quite hard. Then he would at last board the Hogwarts Express, his new school-robes swishing majestically in the wind as the train took off towards his future.

No such luck. He was a Potter, and that meant Harry would lock himself in the bathroom, breathing heavily and trying to ‘get comfy with the idea of my son leaving, that’s all’ for an hour. It meant that after crashing onto the Platform with Lysander underfoot, Luna would have to go back because she spotted a creature that looked rather like something she would like to study, and had also dropped her purse. It meant that in all the chaos, a prefect would grab Lorcan by the collar of his shirt and pull him abruptly onto the train, which had just begun to move.

It meant that Lorcan had to settle for waving to his mother from behind a window after being randomly deposited into a near-empty compartment.

Sighing, he flopped down onto the compartment’s smooth leather seats, closing his eyes to better feel the rocking of the train beneath him, hear the steady chugging of its wheels hitting the tracks, _clank-a, clank-a, clank_. It was easy, this way, to recede into his own little world, to re-write history for himself.

In his mind, he got the good-bye he wanted.

In his mind, his father never cried.

In his mind, everything was okay.

“Hey,” a high, pointed voice jerked him from his reverie, “Are you all right?”


	4. Introductions aboard the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Along the way to Hogwarts, Celestia and Lorcan finally meet.

“Uh, yeah…” Lorcan straightened up slightly, blushing as he eyed the girl across from him. She was small, and pale, with sandy-brown hair obscuring her eyes. On her lap rested a large book, her upper body slouching onto the cage of what Lorcan assumed was her owl, but saw a moment later that it actually belonged to a rather large toad. “Just resting, is all.”

“Oh.” the girl studied him for a moment more before looking away, shifting her position to bend towards the book’s surface.

_Why don’t you just bring the book towards your face? You don’t want to get crooked._

“What?” the girl snapped up again, and Lorcan blushed, realizing he’d spoken aloud.

“Sorry, it was just… Sorry.” He looked away, pretending to be extremely interested in the blurred landscapes passing outside. The change didn’t do much good; he could see the girl’s eyes, piercing and gray, in the window as they watched him furiously.

“What’s your name, boy?” she demanded of him, and Lorcan couldn’t resist turning around to stare at her incredulously.

“Um… Lorcan,” he replied hesitantly, wondering how someone so small could try to belittle him, “Lorcan Potter.”

The girl’s face softened slightly, her expression changing from anger to surprise. “ _You’re_ Lorcan Potter?”

“Yeah…” Lorcan broke his gaze to look for possible exits of the compartment, wondering if there might be any more that were empty, or if he could make a run for it without his current company catching up to him.

“Funny, my dad said you’d be different.”

“What?” Lorcan’s eyes snapped back to look at the girl, who had gone from surprised to surprisingly _pensive_. “How did… Who are you?”

“Celestia Malfoy,” she straightened up a bit, “Daughter of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson.”

“Did they go to school with my father?”

Celestia slumped forward a slightly, cocking her head to the side. “Yeah,” she frowned, “Don’t you know their histories?”

Lorcan shook his head, and Celestia sighed.

“Well,” she rolled her eyes, “I can’t exactly carry on a family rivalry if one of us refuses to hold up his end of the bargain.”

It was Lorcan’s turn to frown. “Rivalry?”

“It’s a long story and really quite complicated. Basically they were on opposite sides of the Battle of Hogwarts, until your father saved mine. They had an awkward truce for a bit but they’re both proud men who don’t forgive very easily, so they still sort of dislike each other. I’m surprised your father hadn’t warned you about me.”

Lorcan shrugged. “He works a lot. Mostly I spend time with my mum.”

Celestia said nothing, only looked away, an unreadable expression clouding her eyes. A pang of pity hit him suddenly; he was unsure what wound he’d re-opened for Celestia, but he knew that he’d never want to hurt her. Guilt gnawed at his chest, and he struggled to find something to say, something to break the tension and perhaps even heal the pain he’d caused.

Of course, he was given no opportunity—Celestia looked back at him, her icy eyes instantly grabbing his gaze, and gave a small, remorseful smile.

“Do you have any friends coming with you to school this year?” Lorcan practically did a double-take at Celestia’s suddenly soft, shy tone of voice.

“Some family friends,” he shrugged, “The Watson-Weasleys. The Changs. But I’m not really close to any of them.”

“Oh.”

Was it just Lorcan, or had Celestia looked _hopeful_ , there in that instance?

“What about you?”

“Same.”

“Oh.”

They passed the rest of the ride in silence.

 

She didn’t plan on making friends; in fact, Celestia would have been perfectly content to pass the next seven years alone with her books, keeping Sherbon for company. But there was something about Lorcan Potter, the way he lingered by her side when they left the train, waiting for her to exit the compartment first, that made her want to let him stick around.  And so he did, for the remainder of the journey and throughout the long tour of Hogwarts’ huge, ancient halls. They didn’t talk, only looked around themselves, occasionally trading glances and smiles. The school grounds _were_ magnificent, and Celestia found that sharing the wonderment of watching for the giant squid as they crossed the lake, or yielding to let ghosts pass by, made everything more amazing. Perhaps it was the way Lorcan’s mouth fell open, or the way he squealed quietly when he saw something he recognized from his parents’ tales. Perhaps it was the way she was finally free to do the same.

“Well,” their guide, Professor Longbottom, stopped in front of the great hall, a smile spreading on his face as he concluded his grand-tour, “What I’m about to lead you into is perhaps not only the greatest sight you’ll see at Hogwarts, but also what will come to define you as a student. When you pass into the great hall, you’ll all be sorted into different houses—this is where you’ll find your best friends and your greatest allies for the next seven years.”

“Professor!” one student towards the back, a small, bespectacled boy with sandy-blonde hair, called out, “What house were _you_ in?”

“Gryffindor,” Longbottom responded, “Where dwell the brave at heart.” Celestia rolled her eyes as a chorus of approving _ohhs_ rose throughout the crowd; she’d always felt that bravery equated to hot-headedness, and that bravado was overrated. Looking over at Lorcan, she searched his face for cues that he felt the same way; instead of being on either side of the spectrum, however, he seemed rather conflicted, a troubled frown worrying his brow. Celestia supposed she shouldn’t be surprised; Lorcan’s father had become the Greatest Gryffindor, a legendary alumni that seemed to cement the house’s superiority in much of the wizarding world’s mind, but Lorcan’s mother was also often called the Essense of Ravenclaw—slightly barmy, but insightful and well-intentioned.

Still, there was no time to think of divided house loyalties; Longbottom opened the doors, and then pushed on into the great hall.


	5. The Sorting Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celestia and Lorcan are sorted, amidst plenty of introspection.

 

If it hadn’t been for Lorcan nudging her, Celestia would have missed her turn entirely, would have stayed frozen and mesmerized by the changing scenery of the Great Hall’s ceiling, never paying heed to the dusty old hat waiting for her at the front of the room. She couldn’t help it; even living as one of the richest children in the wizarding world, Celestia had never seen anything quite as magnificent as Hogwarts, nothing as magical as the holographic clouds wafting past stars so bright they _had_ to be real. And yet they weren’t.

Was anything?

But the nudge had come hard and sharp in her elbow, jerking the question out of her mind. There would be time to ponder the philosophy of magic, the reality of being able to command bells and whistles, after her sorting.

Muttering a quick thanks to Lorcan, Celestia rose and made her way to the front of the hall, back straight, steps light. She didn’t dare look around herself as she rounded the corner up onto the steps that separated her from Headmaster McGonagall; she had no desire to catch the eyes of family friends, the sneers of her family’s enemies.

Slytherin, that was where she belonged.

_I think._

Gryffindor, that was what she dreaded.

_I think._

Taking a deep breath, she sat down and let the hat perch itself on the crown of her head.

“Hmmm… There are a lot of expectations…”

Glancing back at Lorcan, however, her mantra began to fade. What house would he belong in? How could she predict that? Eying him up and down, even from this distance, she could see him looking up, a single finger tracing a pattern in the air as he frowned at the ceiling. Casting a reluctant glance upward, Celestia caught on to his train of thought; he was trying to find constellations.

She had always liked stargazing; the constellations may have been arbitrary, made by wizards as legends to distract muggles from the real goings-on under their noses, but Celestia had always wondered if the legends spread around the stars had any inklings of truth to them. Lorcan probably knew, or at least believed the stories about them; his mother had written a great many articles in that magazine she owned, the _Quibbler_ …

_Focus!_

Her heart pounding, she snapped her eyes back to the front of the room. She had a job to do, a goal to achieve, but how to do it? If only there was some sort of algorithm, some sort of pattern, an observation…

_Not Gryffindor. Not Gryffindor._

The sorting had been dragging on for several minutes; from the muttering of her classmates, she could tell she was a _Hat-stall_ , that dreaded word that landed so many students in Hufflepuff amid whispers and suspicion.

Celestia didn’t want that. She didn’t want any attention at all; she just wanted to get back to her table so that the school-year could start, back to the ceiling to make observations.

_Not a Hat-stall. Please hurry. Not Gryffindor. Please hurry. Not--_

“RAVENCLAW!”

It was over. Celestia stepped down and made her way over to the table in the farthermost corner of the room.

_Ravenclaw._

 

Lorcan watched Celestia move into the crowd of blue and bronze on the left of the room, watched the house consume her small form until he could no longer make her out from the rest of them. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the verdict; Celestia struck him as very intelligent, and very driven. Really, he was surprised she didn’t end up in—

He cringed involuntarily, guilt washing over him at the reaction as he chanced a look at the Slytherin side of the room. They were welcoming a new boy into their ranks, crowding him and patting him on the back as they made room for him at their table. The same celebration he’d watched over and over again from A to M. The same that Celestia had received. The same one _he_ would get, whichever house he was sorted into.

So why did only Slytherin warrant his discomfort?

Cunning. Ambition. These weren’t evil attributes; why did everyone in the wizarding world begrudge them?

He continued to watch the sorting ceremony, keeping a mental tally of all the others as they went up alone, came down a part of a team. He’d be part of a team, soon—but what kept those teams apart, why did they have to compete?

Gryffindor; brave, rash. You could do evil things when you were rash, and worse, never know it.

Ravenclaw; intelligent, ambitious. You could make the sin of being superior.

Hufflepuff; honest, loyal. But weren’t those just words for ‘refusing to stand up to anything’?

Slytherin; cunning, ambitious. Sure, they could be evil, but couldn’t the others?

“Lorcan Potter!”

Sucking in a breath, Lorcan charged forward, his thoughts still consuming him. Houses, competitions, academia, politics, rites of passage, arbitrary lines, the great war. Topics bounced in his mind, connected by mere threads, one more piece in a never-ending puzzle.

McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

It was then that he noticed the view from above; from here he could count the heads of every single house as they watched him.

Were the numbers even?

“Slow down, boy. Let me read.”

He heard the voice, but barely processed it. That is, until laughter rang around him, undercut by a knowing patter of applause from the Ravenclaw table. Lorcan blushed, and tried to slow his thoughts, tried to meditate.

 _If you just sit and listen sometimes, your mind will catch more than it knows._ Lorcan smiled, recalling his mother’s voice, her arms rocking him back and forth, her eyes sage and calm as she imparted advice. That had been one of her favourites; if there was ever a puzzle or problem in the Potter household, it was his mother who would remind the boys to step back and watch, to let it sink in, in order to find a solution.

And so he did, waiting and listening, cataloguing the hat’s grunts and the other students’ giggles as he waited.

_What do you see?_

What did they see?

“RAVENCLAW!”


End file.
